Profoundly Tender
by Robotic Mind
Summary: ‘a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.’ The dictionary is wrong about love. [onesided MattxMello, romance, angst][oneshot]


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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Love.  
'What is love?'  
He had asked himself this question on more than one occasion. Like most people, he knew the meaning of love. But he needed to analyze it, to compare the meaning to his own relationship, to see if what they really had was love.  
'a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person' the dictionary says.

Matt takes an irritated drag of his cigarette. Their relationship was definitely not 'tender.' If anything, it was abusive. There were fits of rage, screaming, periods of ignoring the other, and flying chocolate bars almost every night. The investigation had Mello's nerves frayed, and if you thought he wasn't patient before, now every little noise irritates him to no end. Living with the sadistic blond was a suicide wish all in itself. But Matt had not been killed, at least yet. Could that be considered 'tender'? It was certainly a loving act for Mello not to shoot Matt in the head when he got ashes all over the couch, or when he was caught playing video games instead of researching more leads on the Kira case.

Matt sat on the run down couch, with holes torn in it so the yellowed stuffing poured out, like it was wounded. Taking one last drag of the cigarette, he put it out against the couches fabric, a small hole momentarily burning before extinguishing itself. The smell of burnt plastic mingled with the stale, tobacco-filled air. Running a hand through auburn hair, Matt sighed to himself, contemplating lighting up another cig. These were always the most boring times of the day: when Mello was out, gathering information, and Matt was left alone in the apartment, his research already done. The laptop and machinery buzzed consistently, making the air around him feel alive with electricity. Swinging his legs on the couch, Matt idly lit another cigarette, letting it hang precariously from his mouth while taking drags, exhaling around the Marlboro like a pro.

Barely half-way done with the cigarette, Matt was startled by the apartment door swinging open and banging against the wall. Mello entered with a flurry, coat billowing behind him, leather squeaking around his movements, boots pounding against the beaten floor.  
"Welcome home," Matt said almost gleefully, not only in the fact his boredom could be lifted, but also because Mello was home, safe. Well, as safe as a man with a killer with super-natural powers after him could possibly be. Mello grunted, pulling out a chocolate bar and nibbling on it thoughtfully.  
"Well, what did you find?" Mello asked. Cold eyes watched Matt, but Matt seemed not to notice, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Nothing, as usual," he said, exhaling smoke with the statement.  
"Dammit Matt!" Mello's fist hit the wall in a side-swing, a sharp 'crack' emanating around the room as a piece of wood splintered off. "You never find anything! All you do is sit around, smoking a cigarette, and playing video games! This isn't a video game, Matt! Our lives depend on this! I don't see how-" Mello was cut short in his tirade by Matt's calm voice.  
"Did you find out anything?"  
There was something amusing in the fact that Matt could stop Mello in his tracks, where no man yet could. No gun, weapon, or threat could affect the man, but the brunette could ask a simple question, with no sarcasm, no hate, just curiosity, and he would stop.  
His eyes bore into Matt's, and for a long moment, none of them spoke. Anxiety fluttered in Matt's stomach as he wondered if he had simply angered Mello further. Was this the same look he gave when there was a gun pointed to his victims head? Matt shifted his legs nervously, afraid to take them off the couch, even though he was feeling extremely vulnerable stretched out on the couch.  
A 'crunch' filled the room, and it seemingly dissipated the tension. Mello took a few steps closer to the couch, chewing on the piece of chocolate. His very walk seemed to exude confidence, an air that could kill.  
"Mello…" It was a hushed whisper. Almost begging.  
For love.  
No, not for love.  
For friendship.


End file.
